


Constellations

by dearestpersephone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Tags May Change, This isnt Regency AU okay the entire summary is a metaphor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearestpersephone/pseuds/dearestpersephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a story about a fairytale girl and a fairytale boy and their fairytale endings. This is a story about wolves, sharp eyes and wild hair. This is a story about a wolf in a peasant girl's clothing, and a wolf in a prince's clothing. </p><p>Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter can't be things they are not forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

_when they told her her story was written in the stars_  
_she went to the heavens and crushed each one with her bare_  
_hands,_  
_stars have no power over her,_  
_the night sky is hers now,_  
_and she will carve it with constellations of her own_  
_\- never tell a goddess her fate // k.s_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! dearestpersephone here, and I apologize for not having posted this when I said I would. 
> 
> This follows the basic plotline of Written in the Stars, but the characterization if Harry and Hermione is more in the direction of what I planned. So I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Update 7/28/16:  
> So you may have noticed the description finally changed, and is wholly independent to this story and not copied from WITS. The title has also been shortened, but remains basically the same. I made better choices with the poetry for each chapter to more reflect the themes of each chapter, so that's something to look forward to.
> 
> Update 7/29/16:  
> okay so quick poetry credit bc i didn't realise it was by a tumblr poet which is why this is so late! but the poem is by worthystevie on tumblr and i /highly/ recommend you check them out bc their poetry is beautiful and i will more than likely find some excuse to use it in future chapters tbh


	2. Touch me, and you'll burn

**I.**  
You think I’m not a goddess?  
Try me.  
This is a torch song.  
Touch me and you’ll burn.  
Margaret Atwood, from “Helen of Troy Does Counter Dancing,” Morning in the Burned House

⚜ ⚡ ⚜ ⚡ ⚜

 

Hermione Jean Granger of Number 1, Morgenstern Court, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, was horribly unimpressed with the letter she received upon the morning of August 1st.

“If this is some kind of joke, I’m impressed, “ She told her parents over breakfast, “it’s much too complex for any of the boys at school to come up with. I wonder who it could be.”

Of course, young Miss Granger would soon find out it wasn’t a joke, and she would find out much more with the arrival of a certain Scottish witch in emerald green robes.

Their conversation was utterly fascinating to say the least, and as she listened to her guest speak of a school called Hogwarts and a place called Diagon Alley, of magic and potions and things that ought to only belong in a storybook, she began to think, to plan.

Here she had a world where she belonged. A true home. Where she wouldn’t be teased for being weird and odd and for all the strange things that happened to her (“Accidental magic,” McGonagall says, “happens to every young witch or wizard.”) She had a whole world at her fingertips, one that had been hidden to her, until now.

Hermione Jean Granger had a small thing about power. She was one of those more studious children, and was of the opinion that knowledge was power. Her best friend, Harry James Potter would turn to her, soft smile and hard eyes, saying that power was power no matter where it came from, and to be honest, Hermione was inclined to agree.

Power was power, and now she had it. Real power, well, powers: magic. She could do magic. (Her brain paused, thinking, if she had magic and was going off to Hogwarts in the fall, what would become of Harry while she was gone? Hermione brushed the thought off instantly. It wouldn’t matter what would become of him if he stayed, simply because he wasn’t staying. If Hermione Granger was magic, then she’d eat every last one of her books if Harry Potter wasn’t.)

Harry Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England was indeed a wizard, and Hermione Granger attempted to refrain from shooting up from her chair and doing a victory dance around the table upon reading the hastily scribbled letter delivered by a snowy owl the morning of August the 3rd (it was wholly unsuccessful, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger watched in mild fascination).

Hermione didn’t see Harry again until the morning of September the first, when she barged into his compartment, threw down her trunk and grinned at him, all sharp teeth and wild hair.

“We’ve got magic, Harry.” She’d said, eyes alight with never ending ideas.

“I know.” He’d said, teeth equally as sharp and hair equally as wild.

“No more Harry Hunting. No more running from Dudley and his gang because we’ve got magic. What do they have?”

“Nothing.” Harry had said, and so it began once more, just her and Harry against the world. She had been lied to, had been kept from her rightful place in this world and she wasn’t angry persay, but certainly peeved her enough to want at least a little bit of revenge.

And so she settled herself across from Harry, brought her favorite books out of her bag, and set to it.

The Wizards had no right keeping her from the truth, and since it wasn’t exactly smart for her to become Prime Minister because that was part of the “Muggle government” and therefore irrelevant to people like her, Hermione would need to find some other way to get what she wanted.

Having your best friend be the supposed “Boy Who Lived” and “Savior of the Wizarding World” didn’t exactly hurt her changes when climbing the political ladder, either.

Hermione open her mouth to talk to Harry about that, but the compartment door was thrown open and a messy red haired boy stood in the doorway.

“I heard Harry Potter is on board!” He said loudly, spittle flying with every word. “I’ve checked every compartment, but he’s not here!”

Hermione side-eyed her friend, and looked back at the redhead. “Sorry, he’s not here. I think I saw him move towards the front though, a little while ago.”

The redhead looked delighted. “Really? Thanks!” He sped off.

Hermione sniffed in disdain the moment he left, turning to Harry. “I do appreciate you telling me of your fame. It could come in handy later.”

“Later?”

“Of course, Harry. No power without politics, and your spot as a ‘savior’-” here, she made air quotes with her fingers, leaning forward on the seat across from her best friend, “-will help.”

“We won’t be separated, not if I can help it.” she continues, “Whatever does the ‘Sorting’ for our houses will just have to put us together.”

“I quite like the sound of Gryffindor. Bravery, chivalry.” Harry said, thinking on what he’d read of the Hogwarts Houses. No one ever said he wasn’t studious; you had to be, to keep up with Hermione Granger.

It wasn’t hard to come up with something that would convince Harry to stay far away from the so-called noble house. “Sounds like something Dudley would like.”

Harry made a face, instantly put off. Hogwarts was safe, away from Dudley and Uncle Vernon and crazy Aunt Petunia. He wanted nothing to do with them at Hogwarts.

“So then where? Hufflepuff?”

Hermione laughed, “We’re not exactly kind, are we?”

Harry thinks of every instance in which Hermione reduced a girl to tears with her words, every time Harry had led Dudley into a carefully constructed trap.

“Ravenclaw is an option, but it's not likely you’ll end up there. Wisdom and all.” Hermione points out, sounding somewhat rehearsed, as though she’d gone over all of this in her head before getting on the train.

Hermione might be eons ahead of him in terms of intelligence, but he’s known her long enough to be fully aware that she’d been craftily steering his opinions in the direction she felt was best. “So, Slytherin? Isn’t that supposed to be a ‘dark’ house?”

“Ambition, Harry. Determination. Cleverness. Their values are everything we are, Harry . It’s the best fit.”

Harry looks at her, mulling this over in his mind. It’s not like he’s ever known Hermione to be wrong about anything.

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she continues. “We could have power here, Harry. No more bowing down to the whims of Dudley, no more hiding in the library. We’re already better than the Dursley's because of our magic, but we could bet better than the other wizards in Slytherin.”

“I’m in. Slytherin it is.” Harry grins, and nobody passing gives the little first years with wild hair and wild eyes a second glance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How was it? Leave a comment and let me know!


	3. She's the girl with the fairytale face

**II.**

she’s the girl with a

fairytale face

but her mouth screams

like a wolf’s

words of the consultant, minjeong son

⚜ ⚡ ⚜ ⚡ ⚜

 

The train ride to Hogwarts takes precisely five hours, forty three minutes and eleven seconds. Hermione and Harry had, of course, used those five hours, forty three minutes and eleven seconds to their utmost advantage. They went over book after book, plotting, planning, practicing. Know thy enemy, or, rather, know the world that you plan to conquer. 

 

At four hours, fifty five minutes and twenty three seconds, an older girl comes ‘round to tell them to change into their robes. Hermione steps out to the restroom, and Harry draws the curtains in the compartment. When Hermione returns, they both pick at their solid black robes. 

 

“They change color apparently?” Hermione mutters, fabric pinched between her fingers. “Something about the color of your house?” 

 

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t care what color his robes change to, only that he and Hermione wore the same. 

 

At the stop of the Hogwarts Express at the station, the students disembarked, and all first years are told to leave their luggage behind. Hermione looks skeptical at the information, but nonetheless accepts it and pulls Harry towards the giant shouting for all first years. 

 

“That’s Hagrid.” Harry informs her. “He picked me up from the Dursleys.” 

 

After Harry finishes speaking, a slight blond boy  in front of the pair turns around. “It’s you again.” 

 

“Hello.” Harry says, “It’s Draco, right?”

 

The blond smiles and nods his confirmation and gestures to his companions: a slim, mousy boy and a short, squash-faced girl. 

 

“Theodore,” Draco introduces, and the second boy coughs, muttering ‘It’s Theo’ under his breath. The blond boy seems to not have heard. He gestures to the girl, “Pansy.” The girl smiles. 

 

“Why, you’re Harry-” Draco whacks Pansy across the arm when she opens her mouth and starts to squeal about just  _ who _ is in front of her. 

 

“I’m Harry, and this is Hermione.” 

 

The first years are ushered onto the boats, and Pansy is swept up into the fold of some other first year girls that she clearly knew from before Hogwarts. 

 

Upon reaching the lake and the boats, their little party was the convenient size to fit into one boat. 

 

“You’ll be seein’ ‘Ogwarts right about….  _ Now _ .” As soon as Hagrid finishes, the gasps were heard all around. 

 

“It’s  _ gorgeous _ .”  Hermione breathes in awe, eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the castle. 

 

Draco gives out a little breathy laugh next to her. “It is, isn't it?”

 

The boats hit the docks and as the children were herded towards the front doors, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm. 

 

“No matter where I get sorted and where you get sorted,  _ nothing will change.  _ We will still be friends and I will break every rule to make it happen.” Hermione says fiercely. 

 

Harry just smiles, eyes sparkling. “We won’t be separated, I promise.” 

 

Hermione believes him. Harry didn’t break promises. Not  _ ever _ . 

 

Harry smiles reassuringly at his best friend, a smile filled with a thousand promises that no matter where Hermione Granger and Harry Potter sit after tonight, they will still be  _ Hermione and Harry _ . Hermione slips her hand into Harry’s, cementing their promise. 

 

The large man who had brought the first years across the lake hands them over to a stern-looking witch in green robes, and Hermione knows at once that this woman was not a professor to mess with. The witch begins to introduce the houses, describing Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. At the last house, Hermione gently squeezes the hand in her own, and Harry in turn squeezes back. They would make it to Slytherin together. They’d promised each other.

 

The Professor, one very familiar scottish witch by the name of McGonagall, leaves to give the first years a moment to prepare themselves for the sorting. A nasally redhead, one rather   _ familiar _ redhead maneuvers (re: shoves) his way to the front of the group to stand at the top of the stairs in front of Harry and Hermione.

 

“ _ I _ heard that  _ Harry Potter _ had come to Hogwarts and It looks like I’ve finally found him!” the redhead boasts, and Harry has to resist the urge to wipe his face to remove the spit. 

 

The moment he catches sight of Draco Malfoy is when every good thing that had been going for the redhead  (which, granted, wasn’t much) officially tumbles downhill.

 

The boy's’ nose scrunches up, and he sneers, “Blond hair, ferret face, you must be Malfoy. I've heard all about you.”

 

Draco, who had, up until then been quietly conversing with Blaise Zabini to his left, looks up sharply at the sound of his family name. With a sneer to rival the other boy’s own, Draco Malfoy manages to appear to be looking down his nose while physically looking up at the boy on top of the stairs. A talent no doubt perfected by many hours in front of the mirror, but impressive all the same.

 

“Red hair? Hand me down robes? You  _ must _ be a Weasley.”

 

The boy at the top of the stairs turns his attention straight to Harry. “You’ll come to find that  _ some _ wizarding families are better than others. I can keep you from being friends with the wrong sort. “

 

If there was one thing Harry disliked, it was having his friends insulted. And by now? Draco Malfoy certainly counted as a friend in his book. 

 

He sniffs in disdain at the rude boy’s outstretched hand. “I can very well tell the ‘wrong sort’ for myself, thank you very much.” The end of his sentence is punctuated with a  very toothy grin that reminds the Weasley boy very, very much of a cat who had caught their prey.

 

This is, naturally, the exact moment when Professor McGonagall chooses to return to herd the multitude of eleven-year-olds into the Great Hall for the long-awaited and much mysterious Sorting Ceremony. 

 

The Great Hall is everything that Hermione had ever imagined. Four long tables line the room, filled with all the students in the higher years. Hundreds of white candles float aimlessly around, illuminating everything in their soft glow. The ceiling, however, takes Hermione’s breath away. It reflects the night sky, and tonight's is one of the clearest she had ever seen. Thousands upon thousands of stars reflect across the stone beams that hold aloft the roof of the the Hall. (She is, admittedly, so enchanted by the magic that she misses the hat singing of the four houses. Oh well,  it wasn’t as though she hadn't long since memorized the description of each of the four houses or anything.)

 

“When I call your name-” Hermione's attention snaps towards McGonagall in an instant at the reminder of the Ceremony  “- you will approach the chair, sit, and be sorted.”

 

“Abbott, Hannah!” The girl scurries forward and sits upon the stool, and the ratty old hat is placed upon her head.

 

_ So that's how they sort? A hat? What's it supposed to do- _ Hermione's inner monologue is interrupted by the loud exclamation of “Hufflepuff!” from the tear in the brim of the ratty hat.

 

_ Oh _ , she thinks,  _ it speaks.  _

 

Harry, who had been listening when the hat was singing, looks sharply at Hermione when she jumps in surprise at its speech. He didn't put too much thought into a talking hat right then--too overwhelmed by everything else at the moment. A life lived under the stairs, head stuffed with lies that his parents were drunkards and good-for-nothings was a bit more to process than a magic, talking hat.

 

"Bones, Susan" is next, and she follows the first girl into Hufflepuff.

 

Both "Boot, Terry" and "Brocklehurst, Mandy" are sorted into Ravenclaw, amid polite applause from all the Houses. They were liked by all, it seemed to Hermione.

 

"Brown, Lavender" is the first to make it into Gryffindor, and she walks towards the table amidst  loud, raucous applause by the Lions themselves, polite clapping from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and a spattering of sneers from Slytherin. Some, though, clapped nonetheless.

 

"Bulstrode, Millicent", walks to the Slytherin table to the sound of _ booing _ . Two redheads, an exact replica of a color that indicated they  _ had _ to be related to the rude boy from the staircase, stand atop the benches of the Gryffindor table and boo an innocent 11 year old as she makes her way to the table decorated in green. Hermione, to say the least, finds herself utterly disgusted, and when she glances at Harry, she could see the corners of his lips pull down in revulsion. Who allowed this to happen unpunished?

 

"Corner, Michael." goes to Ravenclaw, and both "Crabbe, Vincent" and "Davis, Tracey." are harassed on their way to Slytherin. "Finch-Fletchley, Justin" is the fourth to Hufflepuff, and "Finnigan, Seamus" is the first boy to Gryffindor.

 

"Goldstein, Anthony" to Ravenclaw and "Goyle, Gregory" to Slytherin and then it’s "Granger, Hermione".

 

If you had asked anyone, they would say quite firmly that Hermione Jean Granger of 1 Morgenstern Court did not  _ get _ scared. But that answer clearly meant that you hadn't asked Harry James Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive, who knew Hermione the best, even better than her own parents did.

 

_ He _ knew she was scared right now. And so he squeezes her hand tight, whispers “I’ll see you in Slytherin,” and gently pushes his best friend towards the stool.

 

She takes a deep breath before approaching the stool with her head held high. It was just a stupid hat, and she wasn’t about to let it ruin her life.

 

The hat fell over her ears, covering her eyes, obstructing her view of the reassuring smile Harry was sending her.

 

_ Why hello, Hermione Granger. _

Hermione tenses up at the sound in her ear. 

 

_ So eager to get this over with, aren't we? _

 

Sue her.

 

_ Well then, let's have a look shall we? _

 

The hat falls silent for a moment, and Hermione has the most bizarre feeling of someone rooting around in her drawers, only her drawers were her mind, which is somehow much more violating.

 

_ Ah, Miss Granger. Ravenclaw would be no less than a welcome place for the likes of you. _

 

She would settle for no less than her first pick. Slytherin or bust, really.

 

 _Slytherin, eh? You no doubt know of their prejudice, and yet you have your heart set on that house?_ _How about bravery Miss Granger? Would you like to be seen as brave?_

 

“I have goals, and bravery will not help em on my way to achieving them.” she says quietly. 

 

_ And I see no shortage of ambition within you. Good luck miss granger.” _

 

“Slytherin!” the hat announces, having made its choice. The lining on Hermione’s robes turns the deep emerald green she had hoped for, and she shakily makes her way to her table, ignoring the booing. She’s done it. She’s made it into Slytherin. 

 

Hermione looks up to the mass of first years still waiting. Now all she needed was Harry. She politely says hello to the upper year girl that bids her a welcome to the house and to her year mates who had been sorted before her. She cares only about Harry. Not about Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin),  Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor), Isobel MacDougal (Gryffindor), Ernest Mcmillan (Hufflepuff). Then Draco’s name is called. 

 

Hermione moves her gaze away from Harry's thin frame to watch as the eleven-year-old basically  _ swaggers _ up to the stool. The ha barely touches his head when it shouts “Slytherin” and the boy comes to the table, grinning.

 

“Hey” He whispers happily, sliding onto the bench next to her, “You made it!” 

 

Hermione smiles back at him. She certainly had.

 

Theodore Nott joins Slytherin next, and then three girls are sorted (2 Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw), and then what she had been waiting for all evening happens.

 

“Potter, Harry!”

 

The hall falls silent. Hermione can't breathe. 

 

“ _ Slytherin! _ ”

 

Hermione could have  _ cried _ . Harry jumps off the stool and quickly makes his way to Slytherin, sliding onto the bench next to her, sandwiching her between Draco and himself. The hall explodes into whispers. A Potter in Slytherin? Rare, but not unheard of. But the Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin? Now, if there was ever anything to constitute a re-sort, this was it.

 

The two friends stay silent, hands clasped together under the table for the rest of the sorting. They greet Zabini, Blaise as he sits down at Slytherin, the very last person to be sorted. 

 

Dumbledore stands and speaks, and afterwards, the feast commences.

 

“I have to say,” Draco starts, pulling food off platters that had magically appeared upon the table with ease, “A Potter in Slytherin. Not something I expected.”

 

Harry and Hermione, who are still trying to figure out just what to eat, look up at Draco. 

 

“You...expected something?” Harry asks.

 

Theo looks at him like he’s mad. “There hasn't been a Potter in Slytherin in generations, if at all. Your lot is almost wholly Gryffindor,..” 

 

“Really?” Harry asks, interested After all, any information about his family, his  _ wizarding _ family was valuable to him.

 

Pansy tilts her head, scrutinizing the boy in front of her. “How come you didn’t know? Almost everyone knows what house they want when they come to Hogwarts.”

 

“I, uh, didn’t really grow up learning this kind of stuff.” Harry fumbles, trying to backtrack out of the present line of conversation. 

 

Hermione knew of and had explained all about the prejudice that she and Harry would face for being Muggle-raised. Harry less so for belonging to a wizarding family by birth, but he was Muggle-raised nonetheless. She didn't care about whether or not people thought she deserved to be in the wizarding world. Magic had  _ chosen _ her, and she’d chosen Slytherin.

 

“We’re Muggle raised.” Hermione says plainly, scooping more mashed potatoes onto her plate as nonchalantly as if she had only dropped some tidbit about the weather. 

 

She’s Muggleborn, and if they didn't like it, she was going to let them know where they could shove it.

 

Blaise chokes on his pumpkin juice, and Draco thumps him hard on the back. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and stares at the two students who had thrown the table for a loop.

 

“Pardon,  _ what? _ ” 

 

Hermione sniffs disdainfully. “I daresay I shouldn’t need to repeat myself. I’m Muggleborn. Harry’s just Muggle-raised. Problem?”

 

In a single instant, the Slytherin table had gone silent. 

 

“There hasn't been a Muggleborn in Slytherin in  _ ages _ ,” one of the upperclassmen whispers.

 

“Three hundred and twenty six years, Terrence” the girl next to him elaborates.

 

“Who cares how long it's been since the last one, Emily. What do we do?” another girl hisses.

 

Draco doesn’t  know the answer to that. His new friend is tragically Muggle-raised, fine, he was a halfblood from a pureblood family. But Hermione? He likes her a lot, but his father would never allow their friendship. His father would blow a gasket, yes, but what had his mother said at the train station?

 

“House before blood.” The words are out of his mouth before he can really think any more on it.

 

“Draco…?” Pansy says softly. “Our families…”

 

“No.” He's steadfast in voice, despite his racing thoughts. “My father always said that those from non-magical families were lesser. But the last thing my mother said to me before I got on the train was ‘House before blood.’ She’s a Slytherin before she's a Mud-Muggleborn.” He corrects hastily, wincing an apology at Hermione.

 

“The Malfoy kid is right,” a seventh year announces, loudly setting down his goblet at the far end of the table. “House before blood.”

 

The phrase rushes through the table.  _ House before blood. House before blood. _

 

“All in favour?” The boy asks, looking over the table, over his fellow students in green.

 

As one, in a show of agreement and the creation of a promise that hadn't been made for three hundred and twenty six years, every student pounded one fist on the table. 

 

At the loud and unanimous oise, the hall’s noise dropped sharply as everyone turned to look at the Slytherin table. Even the professors looked perplexed. All except for two.

 

Their Snakes had made a choice of some kind, and Severus Snape and Septima Vector were going to find out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back! It's only been like, what, two months? I just started junior year and its highkey kicking my ass so updates are going to be few and far between, unfortunately. I'll try to get a chapter out at the least once a month. 
> 
> shoutout to my beta for continuously putting up with me ily Kat how do you do it


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